Inside the palace of Aurelith, the rustle of parchment had been replaced by the echoes of steel clashing. Edmund was practicing sword fighting with Conrad. He had been granted a reprieve from history lessons for a few days. Grenier agreed he had spent enough time reading.

  Where Edmund lacked sharpness with the quill, he more than made up for it with the sword, or at least, he was supposed to.

  “What’s wrong, Highness? Conrad asked, having easily parried the prince’s strikes. “You’re not your usual sharp self today,”

  Edmund didn’t seem to hear him. He pressed forward anyway, each strike too wide, too heavy. Steel bit the air with dull force rather than precision. His footwork faltered, boots scraping against the stone as his balance slipped a fraction too far with every swing.

  Conrad waited, reading him, until the opening revealed itself. In one smooth motion, he stepped inside Edmund’s reach, twisted his wrist, and sent the blade spinning from Edmund’s grip. It clattered against the floor with a sharp ring that echoed through the hall.

  Edmund stood where he was, shoulders rising and falling as he struggled to catch his breath. Sweat beaded along his brow, his chest tight, not from exhaustion alone, but from the weight pressing behind his eyes, thoughts he couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard he swung.

  “Sorry, Conrad,” Edmund said at last, huffing as he wiped the sweat off his forehead.

  “Could it be the weather,” Conrad asked, lowering his blade slightly, “or perhaps an ailment you’re not yet aware of?”

  “I’m… not quite sure myself,” Edmund replied. His gaze drifted away, settling somewhere past Conrad’s shoulder rather than meeting his eyes.

  Conrad narrowed his gaze, studying the prince in silence, weighing not his words, but what lingered behind them.

  At last, he gave a small nod. “I suggest you see Miss Idun, Highness.” He slid his sword back into its scabbard with a calm, practiced sound.

  Edmund nodded in agreement.

  Conrad stepped closer, careful to keep a respectful distance. “The past few weeks have been… overwhelming for you, it seems, Prince.”

  He paused, his voice lowering just a fraction.

  “Even if it’s only words of comfort, I’m certain she can help.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” Edmund responded, “thank you.”

  Conrad gave a respectful bow to Edmund before bidding farewell to Damien, who remained standing watch nearby.

  The palace had fallen into a rare quiet. Footsteps echoed faintly through distant corridors, swallowed almost as soon as they sounded, and the usual murmur of servants and scribes was nowhere to be heard.

  With his father still away with Serena and Tristan, and Aristide lost to his newest book, Edmund wandered the halls, with only Damien following a step behind him like a silent shadow.

  The life of a prince, Edmund thought.

  They eventually reached the long hallway where the portraits of his ancestors hung in gilded frames, their painted eyes following him as he passed. When he stopped before the founder’s portrait, Henri Aurelien’s, his steps slowed, then ceased entirely.

  A tight knot formed in his chest. The longer he stared, the heavier the air seemed to grow.

  “Millions died,” he whispered, his voice barely stirring the stillness, “and millions more suffered, because of you. And yet your image hangs here like that of a noble hero.”

  He clenched his jaw, gaze unwavering.

  “And yet… were it not for your selfishness,” Edmund continued quietly, “I wouldn’t be standing here now, to spite you.”

  Edmund blinked, becoming aware of the turn his thoughts had taken. He shook his head, trying to push them aside, to clear his mind and move on.

  It didn’t help.

  Each step forward only drew his gaze to another portrait. Another governor. Another name preserved in oil and gold. And one by one, they all looked the same to him.

  Thieves and murderers in different measures, cloaked in legacy and praise.

  He had read the histories of Lismontagne. Of the people who had struggled to raise it, to give it shape and purpose from nothing of value.

  Only for his family to steal it.

  “Highness?” Damien called softly, having noticed the tension settle across Edmund’s face. The faint frown, the way his teeth caught at his lower lip. “Is something wrong?”

  Edmund blinked again, the weight of the hall receding as he was pulled back into the present.

  “Huh?” he replied, a beat too late. “Oh. It’s… nothing.”

  They walked in silence for a time, the soft echo of their footsteps stretching down the corridor and returning to them unchanged.

  “I am aware Prince Aristide and General Grenier have already asked you not to dwell too heavily on your origins, Highness,” Damien said at last, his voice breaking the stillness without urgency.

  Edmund glanced at him, faint surprise flickering across his expression. “You know our history as well, Sir Damien?”

  “I do, Highness,” the knight replied evenly. “It is part of a knight’s education to familiarize oneself with the past, especially the failures that shaped the present.”

  Edmund’s gaze lowered. “And knowing what we did… you still chose to serve my family?”

  Damien did not answer at once. His pace never changed.

  “My duty is to the living, Highness,” he said finally. “I stand here to guard you and your family as you are now. The sins you speak of belong to the dead, not to you.”

  Edmund did not respond. Though the knight’s words carried truth, they failed to quiet the unrest stirring in his chest. A heavy pause settled between them as they continued down the corridor.

  “Beldomagne was in the grip of famine,” Damien said at last, breaking the silence, his sudden words nearly startling Edmund. “Henri’s family was starving.”

  Edmund turned sharply. “What?”

  Damien inclined his head slightly. “I take it you have not yet reached that part of the records,” he said. “The reason he accepted Rucaldia’s offer.”

  “Does it matter?” Edmund asked, his tone edged, defensive.

  “Perhaps not,” Damien replied calmly. “But I would like to correct your earlier judgment of his character, not to absolve him, but to clarify his motives.”

  He continued without softening his voice.

  “Henri did not act for ambition alone. He did it to feed and clothe his wife and son, as any father would. He did it for them… and the families of the men who chose to stand beside him.”

  Edmund slowed, then stopped altogether.

  Damien’s words did not argue with him, but they shifted something. Not enough to undo the revulsion twisting in his chest, but enough to unsettle it.

  Hunger. Cold. A wife. A child. Men who followed him because there was nothing left behind them.

  Edmund swallowed. He had imagined ambition. Greed. A man grasping for power and gold.

  He had not imagined desperation. Not a choice made from abundance, but one made when every other path had already collapsed. That did not make it right. It did not unbury the dead or return what had been taken. But it was… different.

  Uncomfortable.

  Something he had not allowed himself to consider.

  His fingers tightened at his side, nails biting faintly into his palm as if to anchor himself.

  Grenier’s voice surfaced in his mind, calm and inexorable.

  Understand the circumstances that shaped that era.

  Edmund drew in a slow breath, the weight of the hallway pressing in around him, the portraits, the gilded frames, the silent witnesses to choices made centuries ago.

  Before either of them could speak again, a familiar figure appeared at the far end of the corridor, carefully carrying a ceramic pot filled with tall, arching leaves, the greenery brushing against the gilt frames as they passed.

  “Hey, Leif,” Edmund greeted, his tone still mellow, though something in it had relaxed, just slightly.

  “Highness,” Leif bowed, the movement awkward as his head brushed against the tall leaves spilling from the pot in his arms.

  “Where are you heading?” Edmund asked.

  “Just moving this pot to a warmer room,” Leif replied. “It’s quite cold where it was.”

  Edmund nodded absently. The word cold lingered with him longer than it should have.

  He hesitated, then asked anyway, “Is Miss Idun home?”

  “Yes, Mother is home right now,” Leif answered, trying to meet Edmund’s eyes through the curtain of leaves.

  Edmund paused a fraction longer this time. “Do you think I could speak with her?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Leif replied. “She’s alone at the moment.”

  “Thank you, Leif,” Edmund said quietly.

  “See you later,” Leif answered, already continuing down the corridor, the leaves whispering softly as he passed.

  Edmund watched him go for a moment before turning.

  “Let’s head to Miss Idun’s house,” he said, gesturing for Damien to follow.

  “As you wish, Highness,” the knight replied, falling into step behind him.

  On their way, Damien fell silent, choosing not to press the conversation further. Edmund sensed the intent at once. The knight was giving him space, allowing him to wrestle with their history at his own pace.

  They passed servants along the corridors, each bowing politely as they went. Edmund returned every gesture. This wing of the palace was livelier than the rest, filled with the soft bustle of work and quiet gossip, maids murmuring as they carried linens, scribes debating missing livestock, ministers muttering over lost revenue and delayed taxes.

  When they reached the stone path leading to the alvarynn home, Edmund motioned for Damien to wait behind.

  As he stepped closer to the door, the air changed.

  Not the biting cold of the approaching winter, but something gentler, like the cool shade beneath a broad tree at the height of summer. A breeze brushed past him, so light it barely stirred his hair, yet it soothed him all the same.

  The tension in his shoulders loosened. His thoughts, so heavy moments ago, seemed to drift apart, carried off one by one before he could even grasp them.

  What a strange feeling, Edmund thought.

  It feels so… calming.

  Despite the ease settling over him, he lifted his hand and reached for the door.

  He was just about to knock when a woman’s voice spoke from within.

  “Thank you for your understanding, Idun…”

  Edmund stopped, his knuckles hovering an inch from the door.

  The voice inside was not Idun’s.

  It carried the same calm he had felt outside. Unnervingly gentle, soothing in a way that made his skin prickle. Too composed. Too deliberate.

  I thought Leif said Miss Idun was alone.

  “Still…” a more familiar woman murmured, “she’s so young…”

  “…to give her this burden.”

  Edmund didn’t move. He held his breath, listening.

  That one was Idun, and she was definitely talking to someone else.

  “I am deeply sorry,” the other woman replied before Idun could finish, her tone steady, almost tender. “But we can no longer hide her.”

  “The Sacrament is already aware of her existence. You must prepare her for what is to come.”

  Silence followed.

  When Idun spoke again, her voice trembled.

  “And… Leif?” she asked softly. “Does he…?”

  Edmund’s heart gave a sharp, uneasy beat.

  “Miss Idun?” he called, knocking at the door before he could stop himself, curiosity overpowering caution.

  Idun did not answer at once.

  Silence settled in its place, deep and expectant, broken only by the sudden flutter of wings as a lone bird took flight, disappearing into the distance.

  As Edmund waited, a chill crept over him. There was no wind to blame, yet the gentle coolness he had felt earlier was gone, replaced by the sharp bite of late autumn that raised gooseflesh along his arms.

  “Please… give me a moment,” Idun finally said from within.

  Footsteps shifted softly behind the door.

  A moment later, it opened, slowly and deliberately.

  “Prince Edmund,” Idun greeted, surprise flickering across her features. “My apologies. I did not know you were coming today.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Am I interrupting?” Edmund asked cautiously. “Were you speaking with someone?”

  “Oh, no,” Idun replied, offering a faint, practiced smile. “I was resting in my bedroom.”

  “I thought—” Edmund began, but she cut him off gently.

  “Please, come in, Highness,” Idun said, gesturing toward the doorway.

  Edmund stepped inside, though the doubt lingered.

  His eyes moved quietly through the room. The kitchen first, then the narrow hallway, the foot of the stairs. Everything was in its place. Too orderly to betray haste. Chairs tucked neatly beneath the table. No cups left out. No second cloak draped over a chair.

  By the door, a single pair of shoes rested against the wall. Idun’s.

  No sign of anyone else.

  She was alone.

  Whose voice was that then? Edmund wondered.

  “Please, have a seat,” Idun offered, her voice gently pulling him back to the present.

  Edmund lowered himself onto the sofa set at the center of the living room. Warmth enveloped him at once. The hearth radiated a steady heat, and the familiar scent of herbs and dried flowers lingered in the air, soothing and unmistakably Idun’s. It was a scent he had come to associate with safety.

  He leaned back slightly. Simply being inside the house eased the tension in his shoulders, as though the walls themselves absorbed unease.

  “Have some tea, Highness,” Idun said, already holding out a cup.

  Not wishing to offend her, Edmund accepted it with both hands. “Thank you, Miss Idun.”

  She watched him carefully as he took a sip, then asked, “How may I be of help, Your Highness? Any wounds? Ailments?”

  “Oh—um, no,” Edmund replied after a moment, lowering the cup. “I actually just came to talk.”

  Idun nodded, settling into the chair across from him. Her expression was attentive, open, yet Edmund couldn’t shake the feeling that she was listening for more than his words.

  “What is it, Highness,” she asked softly, “that troubles your mind?”

  Edmund drew in a slow, steadying breath.

  “Do you think… I’m fit to be king?”

  Idun didn’t hesitate. Not even for a heartbeat.

  “Of course I do,” she said gently. “You are a fine young man with a good heart.”

  Her certainty only made his chest tighten.

  “What’s making you doubt yourself?” she asked softly.

  Edmund’s fingers curled around the teacup. His voice came out restrained at first, measured, until it wasn’t.

  “Well… first, I got my men killed,” he said. “Then I fumbled in diplomacy during my own celebration. I barely knew our history.” His jaw tightened. “And then I learned my family were...”

  He stopped, swallowing hard.

  “Criminals.”

  The word tasted bitter.

  “I—I feel like I don’t even deserve to be a prince,” Edmund continued, his voice finally giving way, fraying at the edges. “Like I’m just some kind of fool wearing fine clothes, and even those weren’t even ours to begin with.”

  The weight he’d been carrying at last slipped free, settling heavy and exposed between them.

  “Then allow me to change my answer, Edmund,” Idun said.

  She met his gaze steadily.

  “You are not merely fit to be king,” she continued. “I believe you will make a great one.”

  Edmund blinked, taken aback. “What makes you so certain?” he asked quietly, lifting his cup for a small sip.

  “Because you see and accept your faults,” Idun replied at once. “Most leaders spend their lives pretending they have none.”

  Her voice calm but unwavering.

  “Good leaders learn how to conceal their weaknesses and carry on as though nothing troubles them. But great ones—”

  She reached out and tapped his chest lightly, just over his heart.

  “—look back, recognize their mistakes, and choose to grow from them.”

  Her hand withdrew, but the gesture lingered.

  Edmund lowered his gaze, the weight of her words settling into him, not heavy, but grounding.

  Idun’s tone didn’t change, warmth threading through it.

  “And don’t be so cruel to yourself,” she said. “You’ve only just turned sixteen. Sixteen, Edmund. You are allowed to be uncertain. You are allowed to learn.”

  A small, motherly smile touched her lips.

  “Go and enjoy your youth while you can. Make friends your age. Laugh a little. Breathe a little.”

  She leaned back slightly.

  “The ministers and generals will still be there when the time comes for you to rule.”

  “Do you really think so?” Edmund asked, his voice lighter now, steadier. “I’m still suited… to be king?”

  “I know you are,” Idun replied without a trace of doubt.

  Edmund’s gaze dropped to the tea in his hands. Steam curled faintly upward, and for the first time in days, a small, almost hesitant smile found its way to his lips.

  He lifted his eyes to Idun.

  And before another word could be spoken—

  The bells rang.

  ***

  It wasn’t the measured toll of prayer.

  Not the gentle peal that marked the passing hours.

  But a harsh, frantic clang that ripped through the palace, sharp and unrelenting.

  A sound meant not to summon, but to warn.

  Edmund froze.

  The sound came again, louder this time, overlapping and uneven, echoing from tower to tower. Shouts followed, boots pounding stone, voices raised in alarm. From inside Idun’s home, he could already hear soldiers barking orders, steel clattering as men rushed to their posts.

  Edmund was moving before he fully realized it.

  He burst out of the house and into the open air, where the calm from moments before had vanished entirely. Down the main thoroughfare, he saw guards pouring toward the outer gates, banners snapping as runners darted past with breathless urgency.

  A guard was rushing toward him, skidding to a halt.

  “Highness!” the man gasped, face pale beneath his helm. “Monsters! Spotted at a distance!”

  Another shout rang out behind him. “They’re attacking a caravan!”

  Edmund didn’t hesitate. He bowed quickly to Idun, gratitude and dread warring in his chest, then turned and followed the guard at a run, Damien immediately falling into step behind him.

  With his father was gone and the enemy was already at the gates, Edmund took command by instinct.

  He veered sharply toward the armory, boots hammering against stone as he stormed inside. The familiar scent of oil, leather, and cold iron filled the air. He seized a breastplate, buckled it on with hurried, practiced motions, strapped greaves over his boots, and cinched his sword belt tight.

  “Highness! It’s not safe!” one of the guards protested, reaching for him.

  Edmund rounded on him, eyes hard. “Gather the archers and the mages,” he ordered. “I will hold them off with the men.”

  “Highness—”

  “That’s an order!” Edmund snapped, his voice cutting through the room with a sharp authority that brooked no argument.

  The soldier stiffened, saluted, and ran.

  Edmund was already moving again.

  He vaulted into the saddle of a waiting horse and spurred it hard toward the gates, wind tearing at him as the city rushed past in a blur of stone and shadow. The gates loomed ahead, already opening as soldiers streamed through.

  Beyond the walls, chaos awaited.

  From afar, Edmund saw it clearly, the wrecked caravan sprawled across the road, its horse gone, its wheels shattered. Dark figures swarmed it from all sides, clawing and tearing at wood and metal alike.

  A scream rose above the din.

  “Help! Somebody, help!”

  Edmund pulled out his sword, leaned forward in the saddle, and charged.

  As he got closer, the visage of the monsters became clearer.

  They were lean creatures, a vaguely humanoid frame, its body hardened by black scaled flesh and streaked with coarse dark fur. Two curved horns rose from its skull above a snarling, fanged muzzle, and its eyes burned with an unnatural red glow. Ragged, bat-like wings hung from its shoulders, their torn membranes stained with dark ichor. Crouched on clawed limbs, it radiated restless violence.

  Crimson light spilled from Edmund like heat from a forge, bathing his armor and blade in a fierce, burning glow. His sword hummed in his grip, wreathed in fiery brilliance.

  The same power he had unleashed against the Great Boar, the same that had carved through the assailants the day of the hunt.

  The moment his horse reached striking distance, Edmund launched himself from the saddle, sword already raised. He brought it down in a brutal arc toward the nearest creature. The blade tore through scaled flesh from shoulder to hip, splitting the monster open in a spray of dark ichor before it could even cry out.

  Another rushed him immediately, claws flashing toward his face.

  It was fast, unnaturally so.

  But Edmund was faster.

  He dropped low, the claws slicing through empty air above his head, and drove his blade across the creature’s torso in a blazing horizontal cut. The creature shrieked as it staggered back, collapsing into the dirt.

  A third lunged from his blind side. Its claws scraped across his shoulder, sparks flaring as they struck armor and flesh. Pain flared hot—but Edmund twisted with the blow, spun on his heel, and cut the creature down from behind before it could retreat.

  The fourth came harder.

  It slammed a taloned foot into Edmund’s abdomen, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs and sending him skidding backward across the road. His boots dug furrows into the dirt as he fought to stay upright.

  Still, he did not fall.

  The creature lunged, sensing weakness—

  Edmund surged forward to meet it.

  Sword and monster collided head-on. His blade flashed upward in a searing arc, cleaving cleanly through its neck. Its head tumbled away as the body collapsed, the creature managing only a shallow graze along Edmund’s cheek before it died.

  Edmund didn’t pause.

  His eyes snapped to the carriage.

  Another monster crouched atop it, claws tearing into the roof as the wood splintered beneath its weight. Edmund ran, leapt, and drove his sword downward with both hands.

  The blade plunged straight through the creature, pinning it in place as flames licked along the steel. The monster convulsed once, then went still.

  Edmund yanked his sword free, chest heaving, crimson light still burning around him as the battle raged on.

  Edmund’s soldiers finally reached the caravan in force.

  Arrows whistled through the air, thudding into fleeing shapes as archers formed lines along the road. Bolts of magic followed. Bursts of flame, shards of ice, and searing flashes of light tearing through the darkness. Faced with organized resistance, the remaining creatures shrieked and retreated.

  Edmund watched until he was certain they were pulling back.

  Only then did he turn to the shattered carriage.

  He forced the door open and extended a hand inside. “It’s safe now. You can come out.”

  A trembling man stumbled into the open, eyes wide as he took in the carnage around him.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” the man cried, his voice breaking.

  Damien stepped closer, scanning the horizon. “Prince, should we pursue them?”

  Edmund shook his head. “No. But make sure they’re completely driven off.”

  “Yes, Highness,” Damien replied, immediately relaying the order.

  The man stared at Edmund again, realization dawning across his face. “Hold on… you’re Prince Edmund Aurelien!?”

  “I am,” Edmund answered.

  “Praise the gods!” the man exclaimed. “Oh, bless this realm for having such a future ruler.”

  Edmund glanced toward the distant fields one last time, then turned back toward the city.

  “Come with us, you’ll be safe behind the walls,” he ordered.

  “Wait!” the man suddenly shouted.

  Before anyone could stop him, he rushed back toward the wrecked carriage, scrambling over broken wood and splintered boards. Edmund and Damien turned just in time to see him wrench open a reinforced closet.

  “What in the—” Damien began, stepping forward as the man fumbled with the lock.

  The doors sprang open.

  Inside, tightly cramped in the darkness, was a girl in a simple gray dress, her black hair tied neatly into a bun with a few loose strands hanging beside her temple She blinked against the sudden light, drawing in a sharp breath as she came out, her hands clutching the edges of the closet.

  “Why do you—” Damien started again, disbelief clear in his voice.

  “This is my companion,” the man said quickly, positioning himself between the soldiers and the girl as if to shield her. “I hid her in here after we were attacked.”

  The girl remained silent, eyes flicking from blade to blade, body tense but steady.

  Damien looked to Edmund, his expression guarded. “Prince?”

  Edmund studied them for a brief moment.

  The battered carriage, the shaken man, the girl still shaking off the darkness of confinement. Then he nodded once.

  “I see no problem,” Edmund said. “Let’s move, before more of those creatures come.”

  Relief washed over the man’s face.

  At Edmund’s signal, the soldiers closed ranks, forming a protective ring around the survivors.

  “Take the injured to the infirmary, please,” Edmund ordered after reaching the palace gates.

  The command rippled outward immediately. Soldiers broke formation, carefully lifting the wounded and guiding them toward the inner streets, while others remained vigilant, eyes fixed on the dark road beyond the gates.

  Aristide came rushing toward them, breathless, his eyes darting from the damaged carriage to the bloodied armor of the men returning with Edmund. “What happened?” he asked.

  “Monsters,” Edmund replied. “Never seen their kind before. They were attacking a caravan.”

  He gestured toward the shaken survivors standing just behind the soldiers. “These are the only survivors.”

  One of them stepped forward at once.

  “He’s, um—” Edmund began, having not asked the man’s name earlier.

  “My name is Minos,” the man interjected, sweeping into a bow that was far deeper than necessary despite his obvious exhaustion. “I’m a traveling merchant. How may I repay you, oh mighty prince?”

  “Please, you don’t have to,” Edmund said quickly, raising a hand.

  “I insist, Prince of Aurelith,” Minos said with fervor. “AH! Here, take my Temporary Acting Assistant.”

  Aristide blinked. “Your temporary what?”

  “This girl here—” Minos said, fingers digging into his hair as though searching for the answer there.

  “Filandra.”

  “Filandra! Yes! Take her!” Minos declared, gesturing emphatically.

  Edmund and Aristide exchanged glances, brows raised in shared confusion.

  “Allow me to explain,” Minos said at once, drawing himself upright as though preparing to deliver a formal address. “See, my Assistant fell ill, so I hired another as Acting Assistant. Well… he got eaten by those creatures, so I made Filandra my Temporary Acting Assistant.” His voice wavered. “But, but…” he sniffed, shoulders sagging, “since I lost my carriage… I don’t actually even need one anymore…”

  Minos broke into exaggerated sorrow, wallowing in front of soldiers, nobles, and guards alike.

  Aristide stared at him in disbelief. “We can’t just take her for that reason!”

  “And if you'd like, we can help you acquire a new carriage and wares instead,” Edmund added.

  Filandra exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples. Then she looked up, expression perfectly flat.

  “He’s always overdramatic,” she said. “Especially when it comes to his merchandise.”

  “But please, if you do have kindness in your heart—”

  She gestured faintly toward Minos.

  Her eyes unwavering.

  “—do take me away from this lunatic,” she said dryly.

  The brothers exchanged confused looks when another bell rang.

  This one was different.

  Not frantic.

  Not panicked.

  A single, authoritative peal.

  Long and unmistakable.

  “The king has arrived!”

  Edmund looked up sharply, a breath of relief escaping him before he could stop it. “What? He’s a day early.”

  “Make way!”

  The crowd parted as soldiers moved at once, clearing a path through the gate. Edmund pushed forward, heart lifting until he saw them.

  The relief shattered.

  The king rode through the gates surrounded by battered men, armor cracked, cloaks torn and soaked dark with blood and ichor. Stretchers followed close behind.

  One was still.

  Gilbert lay unmoving, his body covered hastily with a cloak.

  Felix and Tristan were barely conscious, carried by soldiers with grim faces, their armor crushed and stained. Turenne still walked under his own strength, but his movements were stiff, his injuries fresh and angry beneath torn leather.

  And then Edmund saw her.

  Serena lay unconscious in Renault’s arms, her head lolling slightly as her body was borne forward, her face pale, lips parted as if she were struggling to breathe.

  “I need Idun!” Renault shouted, his voice raw. “Call her! Quickly!”

  Up close, Edmund saw it clearly now, his father’s armor smeared with dark ichor and streaked with crimson, not all of it his own.

  “Father!” Edmund cried, rushing forward. “What happened!?”

  “We were attacked by monsters,” Renault said at last. “Serena collapsed after fighting them off.”

  The words hit Edmund like a blow.

  “You—you said she’ll be safe!” Edmund cried, his voice breaking despite himself.

  Renault’s gaze drifted downward, his jaw tightening. For a long moment, he said nothing, eyes fixed somewhere past the bloodied armor, past the soldiers and the fallen. The silence was answer enough.

  “Majesty, we just drove off monsters as well,” Damien spoke up, stepping forward.

  Renault looked at him slowly, exhaustion etched deep into his features. “How do they look?” he asked weakly.

  “Humanoid,” Damien replied, “but with a wolf’s head and wings.”

  Renault inhaled sharply. “The same that attacked us,” he breathed.

  He turned slightly and gestured toward a bundle wrapped in cloth, dark stains already seeping through it. “Hand this to a soldier,” he ordered. “One of the creature’s arms. Take it to the blood alchemist in the east quadrant. Find out what this creature is.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” the soldier replied, taking the grisly parcel at once.

  Edmund heard the exchange only distantly.

  His eyes never left Serena.

  She lay motionless, her breathing shallow, her skin pale beneath the grime of battle. The world seemed to narrow around her still form, every sound dull and far away. Edmund stood frozen, unable to look anywhere else, unable to accept the weight settling in his chest, cold and suffocating.

  “Alert all soldiers. Raise the city’s defenses,” Renault ordered, his voice hoarse but unyielding.

  Commands rippled outward at once. Runners scattered. Horns sounded from the towers as gates were sealed and battlements manned, the city shifting from shock into grim readiness.

  Idun arrived moments later, Leif close behind her.

  “Majesty! What—” she began, then stopped short.

  Her eyes fell on Serena.

  The color drained from Idun’s face. In an instant, her calm vanished, replaced by something sharp and urgent. Something Edmund had never seen from her before.

  “Settle her down!” Idun said, her voice cutting through the noise around them.

  Soldiers moved immediately, lifting Serena with care as Idun followed close, one hand hovering just above the girl’s chest as though sensing something unseen.

  “Her—her life force, it’s unstable,” Idun said, dread creeping into her words. “She’s on the verge of death!”

  “No! That can’t be!” Edmund shouted, his voice cracking as he surged forward. “Father!”

  Leif stepped closer, panic written across his face. “You can heal her, right, Mother!?”

  Idun didn’t answer right away. Her eyes never left Serena.

  “I need more time to observe her,” she said finally.

  As Idun turned, her gaze caught on Renault.

  She frowned.

  “Majesty,” she said quietly, concern sharpening her tone, “please come with me. I need to observe you as well. You seem injured.”

  Renault stiffened slightly, but did not protest.

  Edmund and Leif stood frozen, words caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. The world around them felt unreal, movement blurred as the weight of Serena’s condition and the bloodied return of the king settled over them.

  Before Renault and Idun could move Serena deeper into the palace, a soldier came running toward them at full speed, waving both arms wildly to draw attention. He nearly stumbled to a halt.

  “What is it?” Renault demanded.

  “Messengers, sire,” the soldier said, breathless, gesturing frantically to those behind him.

  Two men staggered forward, dust-covered and pale, chests heaving as they struggled to speak.

  “The—the villages!” one gasped. “They are under attack!”

  A collective gasp rippled through the courtyard. Whispers broke out at once, fear spreading faster than any command.

  “Monsters, Majesty!” the second messenger added, barely able to catch his breath. “Winged… wolf headed.”

  Renault’s expression hardened instantly. Any trace of exhaustion vanished, replaced by cold resolve.

  “Gather the army!” he ordered without hesitation. “Send soldiers to every town and village!”

  “Allow me to lead a battalion, Majesty!” Edmund suddenly said.

  The words cut through the chaos like a blade.

  “Brother?” Aristide asked, disbelief flashing across his face.

  “I’ll head to one of the villages!” Edmund shouted, rage bleeding into his voice. “I’ll make them pay for what they did to—”

  “Son,” Renault interrupted, stepping forward, his tone firm but strained. “I can’t risk you—”

  “Please, sire!” Edmund cried, his voice raw now. He did not look away. His gaze remained locked on his father’s, burning with grief, fury, and unshakable resolve.

  For a moment, the courtyard seemed to fall silent around them.

  Renault studied his son, seeing not the boy he had raised, but the young man standing before him, bloodied, battle-worn, already carrying the weight of command. He saw the same fire that had driven him into battle years ago.

  At last, Renault exhaled slowly.

  “Assemble the men you wish to take with you,” he said.

  Edmund didn’t hesitate. He bowed deeply, once, sharply. “At once, Your Majesty.”

  Then he turned and strode toward the waiting soldiers, fists clenched at his sides, every step fueled by a single, burning thought:

  He would not wait behind walls.

  He would not let others suffer while he stood idle.

  If the monsters had come for his people,

  then he would meet them himself.